Umbert Williams

Umbert Williams

The mailroom was Umbert’s true home; he rarely spent time in the meager apartment which he shared with his wife and his son Trip between the hours of seven in the morning and eleven at night. He spent fourteen hours every day (with the exception of Sunday and the occasional Saturday) sorting and delivering mail to the workers of the grand and elegant Vitatech office in the Queen City.

By his sixteenth year of life, he left behind all his childhood dreams of being an astronaut. Umbert may have been dumb, but he was not blind; he knew well that he simply did not have the mental ability to pass his basic Algebra class, let alone a career with NASA. Only one desire remained in his heart after that painful day—he wanted to be normal. He knew well what it meant. To be normal was to work hard, avoid danger, and take care of oneself. No one would criticize or hurt him if only he managed to live up to the standards of those around him.

At a friend’s request he agreed to be introduced to his future wife, Christina Ryan, who, unlike him, went to college. She even went on to earn a doctorate degree and became a Pediatrician. Then, only few months into the pair’s marriage, a child was conceived and upon his birth Umbert named him Umbert Williams III, or Trip for short. Finally, Umbert had a normal family with a normal wife and a normal child.

Umbert’s stomach roared as the clock was about to hit noon. He continued to sort through the letters and packages, glancing at the clock every few seconds. Finally the clock showed twelve sharp, down to the second sharp. Umbert put down the mail immediately and walked briskly into the break room. Almost dogmatically he opened the fridge and looked for whatever was most common—Tuna on Wheat. With the knowledge of what to bring for lunch the next day, he grabbed his own meal and ate. After finding the table with the most people at it, he sat down, joining them.

“Hello, it’s the mailroom guy,” said Tom the new intern, to which Umbert replied, “Actually, Tom, I would prefer it if you called me by my official title. I am a mailroom technician.” Tom nodded as he took a bite into his chicken wrap. “That’s odd, you are eating a wrap, I thought everyone was eating tuna?” mentioned Umbert, thinking that such a comment was on the level of, “you have a little something on your cheek there, sir.”
Tom, bewildered, spoke, “I ain’t got nothing but a chicken wrap.” Instantly afterwards Umbert responded, “Do not. You mean ‘I do not have anything…’” he laughed lightly, “because otherwise it’s improper, you know, English.” Tom stood up from the table and left, leaving Umbert utterly embarrassed. He left his lunch unfinished and returned to his post.

Most of the building was dark and only custodial technicians and fellow hard workers patrolled the cubicles. Precisely ten o’clock—it was time for Umbert to go home. What an embarrassing day it was for the awkward technician. The guard in the building’s front let him out and he headed straight for his old SUV.

The drive home was long as it always was, but eventually he made it to his apartment. His wife and son were asleep, and he crawled into the bedroom. Collapsing on his bed, his red eyes closed and reopened once the Sunday sun had arisen. “Time for Church, Trip,” said Christina, the wife, and to this voice Umbert awoke. He showered, put on a suit, and drove his family to Church. “Daddy,” babbled Trip, and Umbert corrected him, “Father…not Daddy.”

They pulled into the parking lot and entered the church. After virtually sleeping through the readings, the homily, and the Eucharistic rituals, the parish announcements came on. A woman with a deep, monotone voice spoke, “…Pancake breakfast after mass today…” Umbert shot up and whispered into his spouse’s ear, “Lets eat some pancakes after mass.” Christina shook her head, “We’re having Italian at Boudicca’s.” Umbert replied, “You always get to choose though. Please, honey?” “I always get to choose because you probably have no idea what you want to eat. You can’t just eat pancakes every time you hear the word. We’ve been through this; now hush, they’re doing the closing prayers.” Umbert stood up and sighed, “Thanks be to God.”

The next morning came and with it, the buzzer of the five-thirty alarm. Umbert ate, showered, and dressed himself as he did every morning for the past 1,826 mornings, but an anomaly occurred on this particular one. The phone rang and Umbert picked it up. An automated voice began to speak, “We are sorry to inform you that—” A man with a Brooklyn accent then briefly uttered, “Umbert Williams” “—has just been laid-off. The Vitatech office at which he worked has been burnt and all former employees their have been let go as well. Have a good day sir or ma’am.”

Shaking, Umbert put down the phone and started crying. He heard the phone ring again some four hours later. “He-hello?” he sobbed. “Umbert? It’s me Tom. Did you get laid-off too?” Umbert nodded. “Are you there?” asked Tom. “Yes I was laid-off, what do you want?” “Well, Umbert. My friends just told me about this new charity service. We need someone to sort all the letters and donations we’re gonna be getting? You want the job?” Umbert asked, “How many people are apart of it?” Tom answered, “Not enough—thirty-nine so far. But listen, it’s mostly us, your friends from work.” For a second, Umbert hesitated, but eventually a response came, “Tom…I will…I’ll do it.”